Catfish Has a New Friend 3
This is a story for adult men. It depicts gay sex. If this offends or bothers you, DO NOT READ IT. It is a fantasy and is not a sex manual, or a discussion of safe sex. If you have, comments send them to bldhrymn@yahoo.com or bldhrymn@aol.com
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My nerds were following the extremist internet sites. Of course, there was a vast explosion of chatter after the massacre. My guys had networked with similar folks who followed individual extremist sites. They were used to the sites and could pick out abnormalities.
That was a difficult job since outlandish theories and plots were the meat and potatoes of these sites. You were only able to find oddities if you followed the sites closely and could separate real information from the normal paranoia.
The groups were split on the massacre. Some thought it was betrayal of the movement. Others thought it was a good expression of the master race and its relentless drive to achieve domination. Some wanted revenge, other wanted to reward them. Sadly, there is no Noble Prize for achievement in mass murder.
Generally, the groups talked more than they did, so much of this was hot air. My guys were looking for the exceptions. When we found something, we sent a tip to the police. They would send it on. Some of the upper levels of law enforcement were not interested in right wing groups because they "had their hearts in the right place. " The people in the field knew there was a much greater chance of dying at the hands of a right-wing extremist that fighting some Middle Eastern radicals. These groups may have been ultra-brave patriots, but they had a taste for killing unsuspecting worshipers at churches and temples or children at a school. A tip from a police force was hard to ignore.
One of my guys, Tina, who used the screen name Butch Bob, found a Texas group, the Alamo Army, chatting about a caravan. Butch Bob was a bedridden patriot who believed in every conspiracy and expressed his approval in spectacularly profane terms. Tina was a mild-mannered librarian. She had thought the Alamo Army was little more than a hot air balloon. The caravan was the first time they mentioned actual activity. Apparently, there was a ten-year-old Dodge van, known as the Rust Bucket. This was specific and unlike the usual ravings of the group.
Karl was interested in this. He knew of a West Virginia group known as Quantrill 's Army and a Stuarts Army in North Carolina.
"Is this a franchise arrangement? " I asked.
Karl looked at me. "I hadn 't thought of that. The KKK had branches, " he said. I called my office and gave the names to my guys. Karl called his people. An hour later Captain Knight called me and said a van owned by the Homefront Guardians was seen just outside Danville.
The police had assumed they were heading home, but Danville was not directly on the way. That could have meant that they were taking the long way home to avoid the police, or they had friends in North Carolina. Soon Homefront vehicles were seen in several southside towns. The State Police told local police to watch but not stop the trucks and vans. Local Police would be out gunned, and we needed to get tactical police in to make the arrests.
From Danville they could go directly back to West Virginia or into North Carolina. My geeks had just found a Mosby 's Army in North Carolina and they possibly might hook up with them. Extremist, Southern redneck groups were not that rare, but they were mostly prone to beating up single Black men at night. The Homefront Guardian 's might inspire copycats.
Tina was on a roll. Somehow, she got into the Mosby Army e-mail and found connections to the other Army groups. Once she found it, she had a field day. She had pals who helped, and they soon identified a network of hate groups. A "public spirted individual " leaked it to the police.
The major efforts were cyber, but Karl and I are more of the catch them and lock them up type. We wanted the get the Homefront Guardians. Karl was a native West Virginia and was used to the preferences of redneck hillbillies. They preferred back roads and tended to avoid bigger cities.
Roddy was home and he was familiar with the back roads in that area. He had driven a truck for a seed and feed in the summer after high school and before he joined his father at the farm. His dad thought he should try something else before committing to the farm. Roddy picked out several likely routes and we had the state police copter check them out.
It had been along day. Roddy was off to his softball game and Karl went with him. They were back at the apartment at 10:00 and were in a good mood. One of Roddy 's team players didn 't show up and Karl substituted for him. Karl was good as the second baseman, but even better hitting, if three home runs was any indicator.
We sat down and had a celebratory beer. Karl hadn 't played softball in a while and was pleased he still had the skill. He had played baseball in college, and in the local leagues at home. His schedule as a policeman made it hard to show up regularly and he had dropped it. They had a few beers before and were feeling happy. Karl had asked Roddy if I was what I seemed to be. Roddy told him I was a lot better than I looked. He said I was a complete straight arrow personally with a few sexual quirks.
It was not a complete shock when Karl and Roddy joined me in the shower for some intense R& R. A mental health counselor told me that when a man was excited and exhausted sometimes some Penis Therapy was helpful. I asked if that was the same as "Drain the Balls " therapy.
I was semi-retired and much less stressed than had been typical. I could tell Karl was in need. I assumed two cocks were better than one, and I knew for a fact, that you couldn 't overdose. I was sitting on a bench in my shower when Karl 's cock came in range. I snagged it and Karl didn 't ever pretend he objected. Roddy came over to us and put his arm around Karl.
Karl was oozing buckets. "There is enough precum for two, " I observed.
"I 'm not much on precum, but I think the home run king is an exception, " Roddy said. He dropped to his knees to suck Karl.
"Sometimes, Roddy and I are playmates, but we are just friends, " I said.
"Fuck buddies? " Karl asked.
"Let 's just say we meet each other 's needs once and a while, " I said. Karl seemed to be more open and relaxed that I had sensed before. I assumed the softball game and a few beers contributed to that. "Are you interested in being a fuck buddy, or do you want something more? " I asked.
"I 'd like to be with guys I feel comfortable with, " he said. "The sex is optional. "
"Does it bother you that sex is not optional for us? " Roddy asked.
Karl was silent for a little while. "As a matter of fact, that doesn 't bother me on bit! " he replied. Things turned out well for all of us. We sucked for a while and then Karl said, "I would like to fuck, but I don 't think I am ready to bottom. Is that a deal breaker? "
"Not for me, " Roddy replied.
"My cock never goes where it 's not wanted, " I said.
I 'm getting old, but I can still develop new skills. I have been bottoming more and I have been working on creating a prehensile ass. My missing leg cuts back on some exercise, but I have been working on my sphincter so I can grab and manipulate a fucker 's cock.
We went to my bed. I was on my back with my leg on his shoulder. Karl was not that experienced as a top, so he took his time working his cock into me. He had a large, well defined cock head on the top of a tree trunk like cock. It was thicker at the base and thinner near his knob. I knew exactly how deep he was.
The sensations caught Karl off guard before he could compose himself. He didn 't expect what he felt, and he couldn 't control his reactions. Every man knows that cocks are neither obedient nor predictable. He was a control freak who was out of control. He collapsed on top of me as soon as his cock finished ejaculating.
When he pulled out, Roddy stepped up to the plate. He seemed to lose it. It may have been my nearly prehensile ass, but I suspected it was slipping his cock into a cum filled ass that did the trick. Karl was an impressive, macho man. While I am all man, I am a bit light on the impressive part. No one ever mistook me for Tom Selleck or Sean Connery.
There was a restful lull, but cocks tend to recover quickly after a good experience. Roddy managed to slip into Karl 's behind and found him unexpectedly receptive. For Roddy it was exciting, and he shot off after five minutes. Roddy pulled out and I took his place.
I rammed Karl 's prostate on the way in and he didn 't know what hit him. Roddy had been well lubricated, and he must have had a spectacular orgasm. Karl 's ass was slippery and juicy.
"Oh god! " Karl moaned.
"It 's me, Catfish, not god, " I said. Karl didn 't seem to catch the humor. "I 'm going to fuck you until you shoot off, " I added, "It 's going to be a long ride. "
Karl made it for ten minutes and then lost it. Roddy was next to us and took every drop. Karl 's orgasmic twitches pulled my trigger and I drained my balls into him. We rested and cooled off.
"I didn 't think that would happen. I 'm embarrassed, " Karl said. I was still in his ass and felt him twitch and he had a final ejaculation. Roddy had been nursing on Karl 's cock head. He swallowed the entire cock.
"I know what your ass feels like. Roddy knows what you cum tastes like. You 've got no secrets left. Enjoy it. If we did this once a day for the rest of your life, would you still be embarrassed? " I asked.
"Probably, " he replied and then he chuckled. `Every day would be a bit much. Once or twice a week might be good. " We went to bed. When I woke the next morning, Karl was unloading is balls into Roddy. They were happy troopers.
I called the office and Tina, i.e. Butch Bob, had been busy. The Texas group, the Alamo Army, was leaving for Richmond to connect to other groups to incite a popular uprising against the government. The final objective was to re-create the Confederacy and restore slavery to its God ordained place in the world order. Tina thought their plans made children 's fairy tales seem like hard hitting, ultra-realistic novels. The Texas Rangers were aware and watching. Police in Ohio and Michigan made early morning raids on several "Gun Collectors. "
Richmond area Police had located five or six members of the Homefront Guardians in a trailer park south off Jefferson Davis Highway. This was a problem. The group was known to have high powered weapons. If there was a shootout, the trailer park residents would be in danger. Trailers off no protection from automatic weapons. The police were trying to evacuate the park without arousing suspicion. That as easier said than done.
The van that was headed to Danville had disappeared. I assume it was hidden in a barn or other farm outbuilding. We got word that the success of foiling the attack on the Institute of Art was perhaps too successful. One of the other groups was looking for the men who were lost and wanted to do something at the institute. Catfish & Company had sent more people to the Institute. This time some of them were inside the building the building. The were at the entrances, and near particularly valuable works of art.
Roddy took me to the museum. I checked in with the director. He had told the staff to report any thing even slightly unusual. All the staff patrolling the galleries had direct communication with each other and the administration. I thought the paintings were probably safe, since it was unlikely there were art lovers in the militia groups. Jewelry and silver were a problem. The museum had a large collection of each.
Some of my more delicate looking women were near the jewelry. Sally was a blackbelt former Marine. Candy had lived in a trailer with four brothers. She only looked delicate. Candy had a degree in art, and she could be a convincing guide.
I was disturbed that the Homefront people were still at large. The manhunt was huge, and they should have been caught by now. My phone rang. Sparky had been shot and was on his way to the hospital. Gill was moved to a new hide-away. As soon as I heard that I knew we had a problem. Only a few people knew where he was, and they were all policemen. Even I didn 't know where he was. Maybe the Homefront Guardians just had incredible luck, but that was unlikely. Maybe the Guardians had a believer on the police force. That was both possible and very bad. I talked to my pal on the force. He had a two-word reply, "Oh shit. "
Since Sparky was light on friends and relatives, Roddy and I went to the hospital. The Doctors told me it was serious, and Sparky was scared. Since I was regarded as being an expert in getting shot, they asked me to see him. He had been shot in the leg and pelvis. The assassin was using a conventional weapon, not an automatic, so he was alive.
He was frightened and embarrassed at being scared. I told him Rambo only existed in movies. Being scared is a natural reaction telling you to get to a safer place. They only way you can avoid being scared is to be dead. "Do you think they will take my leg off? " he asked.
"I had the same doctors. They are good. They don 't sugar coat things, were upfront with me, " I said.
"Did they tell you they were going to take off your leg? " he asked.
"They told me there was a 35-40% they could save it. I might get lucky, and they would do all they could, but I couldn 't count on it, " I explained.
"What was it like when you knew it was gone? " he asked.
"It must have taken me three or four days to fully realize it was gone. The painkillers are very strong. I had trouble figuring out what happened, " I said.
"Did you wish you were dead, " he asked.
"No, I was planning my testimony against the man who shot me, " I said. "Revenge is better than self-pity. "
"I could get into revenge big time, " Sparky remarked. That cheered him up. I stayed with him when the doctors came in and translated their medical jargon into English.
At the end he asked, "What happens if someone fucks up? "
"My team does not fuck up, " the doctor said. It wasn 't a promise; it was just a statement of fact. Sparky was reassured.
As Sparky rolled off to the operating room, I told him I was off hunting.
I called my office and told them my theory about a mole in the police department. Tina thought that made sense. "Let 's just say the guys in these groups turned to crazy conspiracy theories because Nuclear Physics wasn 't challenging enough. They are lightweights. I don 't think they are prone to good luck, " she said. "Someone is giving them a boost. "
The police immediately knew that too. Something was amiss. They didn 't think it was a cop, but there was staff that could be involved.
There were people on the edge, reformed racists and American First type people. The administration knew who they were and kept an eye on them. Many had been disciplined and know that an incident could end their careers and make it all but impossible to get a new job. Perhaps, there were some who were deluded and thought they would the hero of a new age, but the police were good about finding delusional people. I assumed something would show up on the internet. It seemed to be the playground of the crazy.
I had a call the next morning from the hospital. They asked me to be there as Sparky woke up. He still had his leg, but it wouldn 't be fully functioning. The knee wouldn 't work.
When I got there Sparky was just glad, he had a leg. He was on pain killers and was doing well. The wound in his groin hadn 't hit anything major, and everything seemed in working order. He also remembered the man who shot him. It was one of the bar 's patrons. That added a fifth shooter at the bar.
A doctor came and explained their pain management scheme. He said they weren 't sure how much of his nerves and muscle connections were damaged. He might be able to walk with only minor discomfort, but it might be more difficult and painful. He said his would were unusual and of interest to them. There was a research program that was interested. They would accept him as a case and that would be without cost to him. Sparky was fading due to the painkillers, but he seemed interested.
The man who shot Sparky was captured two hours later. He was in a shootout at a 7-11 off Jefferson Davis Avenue. He was with the trailer park group. The Staff and customers were able to escape out the back door, so no more innocent people were hurt. The shooter was named Bubba, and he survived but lost his legs. He was treated by Sparky 's Doctors. Apparently, he hoped for a show trial, but being caught in the act made a trial unnecessary.
The next morning the Police banned all the staffs ' cell phones, including the janitors and call center staff. My guys had a some of the phone records and were checking for calls. My office staff was carefully selected and comparatively small. When we needed large scale data entry, we had other people on call. We need all the police names entered and then entered the calls to the militia groups and compared the two. This should have been time consuming, but our anal-retentive computer nerds rose to the occasion.
Roddy 's stint as a seed and feed deliveryman was useful to the police. He knew which farms were still active, closed or abandoned. He found them on aerial maps and the State Troopers went to the co-ordinates. This information speeded up the search considerably. The State Police copter noticed fresh track marks around an abandoned barn. Trooper surrounded the barn and they were shot at from the barn. There was a 12 hour stand off and the fired smoke grenades into the building. One of the grenades hit something volatile and the barn exploded.
No one survived. 12 Homeland Guardians were dead. The police had to count the heads and skulls to determine the body count. The Homefront was literally blown to bits. Most of the bits were burned. The barn had a season 's worth of old hay inside.
Back in my office, Tina had found 14 calls to the Homefront leader. They were on a burner phone, but they came from the Cell Tower nearest to the Police Headquarters.